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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28266603">Fucking Weird</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkysterek/pseuds/milkysterek'>milkysterek</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>kinkmas 2020 [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha Derek Hale, Biting, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Grinding, Injured Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Werewolf Turning, evidently stiles likes to be bitten</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:55:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>812</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28266603</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkysterek/pseuds/milkysterek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ve got you,” Derek whispers, his lips at the shell of Stiles’ ear.</p><p>Around them, rubble is falling from the ceiling, colliding with the floor, throwing dust and dirt and debris into the cloudy air. It won’t be long until the building comes down around them.</p><p>Stiles coughs.</p><p>It’s a harsh, wet sound.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>kinkmas 2020 [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2036485</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>248</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Sterek Kinkmas 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Fucking Weird</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For Sterek_Kinkmas day 7: biting.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I’ve got you,” Derek whispers, his lips at the shell of Stiles’ ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Around them, rubble is falling from the ceiling, colliding with the floor, throwing dust and dirt and debris into the cloudy air. It won’t be long until the building comes down around them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles coughs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a harsh, wet sound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just stay with me, stay awake. I’ll get us out of here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles doesn’t need werewolf hearing to detect the uncertainty in Derek’s heart. He doesn’t call him on it; he doesn’t have the strength. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, fuck,” Derek is saying and Stiles knows he’s fading fast, can feel himself slipping away. He’ll be with his mother soon and his dad will be all alone. Stiles sobs then, but he has no idea how he manages it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pain shoots through his shoulders as he’s placed down on the cold concrete. Derek whispers an apology, but it’s muffled by the sound of tearing cloth, of sharp nails ripping through flimsy material. Then Stiles is cold, colder than he was before. If he wasn’t seconds from death, he might have been embarrassed by his half-nakedness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crashing seems further away now. Stiles wonders if that’s because he’s almost gone, or if Derek has managed to get them to safety. He tries to ask, from where he’s lying topless on the floor, but he finds his mouth doesn’t work anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s concerning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry,” Derek chokes, “This is the only way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles doesn’t have time to wonder what that only way happens to be before a hot mouth is sliding over his exposed neck. For a second, Stiles thinks ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>is this really the time?</span>
  </em>
  <span>' before sharp teeth extend from Derek’s gums and pierce Stiles’ fragile skin. He wants to scream in pain but all he manages is an upsetting gurgle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Derek keeps his vice-like hold on Stiles’ neck, biting deep into his flesh. On the surface, Stiles’ skin is cold, clammy under Derek’s blood-soaked lips, but below he’s warm and mercifully alive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Stiles had called Derek, frantically screaming about hunters and kidnapping and a building close to collapse, he’d been worried. But he and Stiles have this weird thing where, no matter how dire a situation may seem, it all works out for them in the end. The two of them. Together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today was never supposed to end </span>
  <em>
    <span>like this</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek digs his teeth in deeper and closes his eyes. The stench of blood is hot in his nostrils, enticing in a way that disgusts him. Stiles whimpers and Derek brings a clawed hand up to stroke his hair, gentle and soothing. But Stiles doesn’t stop, his little noises of pain growing longer, tapering out into smokey wisps of… pleasure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s when Derek registers the rocking of Stiles’ hips. When he realises that Stiles is grinding up against him, with breathy little moans falling from his dry and cracked lips. The man is barely alive, bleeding from so many different places and with so many different crushed and broken bones. And he’s getting off. On Derek. While dying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carefully, Derek retracts his teeth. Blood wells in their place, thick and rich and red. Derek laps it up, licking over the wound until he feels Stiles’ flesh knit back together under his laving tongue. Stiles shudders, pushes up harder, rocks that little bit faster. Derek guides his hand down from Stiles’ hair until he reaches Stiles’ bony hip. He cups the jutting bone and gives an encouraging squeeze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” He says, into the crook between Stiles’ shoulder and neck, “You’re okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Stiles is wrapping one damaged but healing leg around Derek’s waist and comes with a high, fluttering moan. His orgasm is hard and leaves Stiles looking dazed, or perhaps that’s the blood loss. Once he’s done, he has the decency to look slightly shamefaced.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek pulls back, acutely aware of his own stiffness and adjusts himself in his pants. He’ll deal with that later. Right now he has more important things to do, like getting him and Stiles as far away from this crime scene as possible. He has no doubt the cops have already been called to the site of the collapsing building and Derek does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to be found with the Sheriff’s half-dressed, bloodied and come covered son in his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You good,” He asks because, while the healing effects of the bite have already started to do their job, Stiles is still looking a little worse for wear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stiles nods, his cheeks warm and pink, and clears his throat as his squirms in his sticky pants. “Well, I’m not dead,” He laughs croakily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Derek huffs a laugh of his own and climbs to his feet. He pulls Stiles up after him, careful not to rough him around too much, “No,” He says, with a playful glint to his eyes, “but you are fucking weird.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I felt like writing something sad but then my pervert brain took over so instead of dying, Stiles got to nut.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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